The Baker Street Irregulars: Operation Red Cloud (MyIGN War special)

The Baker Street Irregulars have briefly broken off from their wartime operations in France to lend a hand to the Pirate King. To read some of the other MyIGN War posts in the run-up to this one, visit:

Operation Red Cloud

Captain Thomas Weaver left the Command Tent and wandered over to the rest of his squad. He glanced around the parade ground at the hundreds of the Knights of Sean beating out a tattoo of booted feet as they moved across the tarmac like a machine oiled to perfection.

As he drew up, Violette Touton lit an unfiltered cigarette. She drew smoke deep down into her lungs before releasing it slowly again. She gestured at the gathered troops, the glowing coal tracking across their serried ranks of khaki. ‘Pretty but pointless.’

Mac and Guillaume were sat behind her in a pair of beaten old armchairs that had been dragged out of the Baker Street Irregulars’ billet and perched on the grass. The Scotsman looked up from a copy of the Beano and watched the parade for a moment. ‘Why’s that then, princess?’

Violette turned and flicked ash over him. ‘I am not your princess.’

Guillaume smirked as Mac hurriedly brushed away the hot dust.

She turned her gaze back to the army. ‘We know nothing of the enemy. We know not their numbers or their location. An army is no use if it is in the wrong place or, worse, too small.’

Thomas nodded. ‘Then you will be delighted to know that General Hambleton has just handed us new orders.'

The others looked brighter. ‘Behind enemy lines?’ asked Mac.

‘Aye, Mac. We’re back on operations.’

**

Password?

The zodiac slipped through the surf and brushed across the shingle. Under the night sky, the four Baker Street Irregulars quickly alighted, dragging the small boat out of the water and up the beach. Mac drew a long knife, dulled with lampblack, and slid the sharp edge into the rubber seal. The zodiac deflated rapidly.

Quickly, the other three dug a shallow depression in the loose stones, bundled in the ruined vessel and then covered it over. After a quick check of the surroundings, they hurried off the exposed beach and into the trees at the headland.

Violette coughed lightly as they huddled together in the darkness. ‘Merde, I need a cigarette.’

Thomas shook his head. ‘Not on covert ops.’

‘I know.’ She pulled a face. ‘So where’s the Super Spy then?’

‘That’s Agent 350 to you, Violette, codenamed Cusmar.’ The captain pushed up his sleeve and checked his watch. ‘We’re early.’

‘And noisy, Captain Weaver,’ a figure eased out of a nearby tree.

The four Irregulars grabbed for their side arms as the man stepped towards them. Weaver stood, pistol pointing at the stranger. ‘Dover Beach.’

The man nodded, features flitting in and out of the pale moonlight. ‘Dulce et Decorum est.’

The handshake was cursory. ‘Spare us the formalities, captain; there is work to be done. Are your troops ready to move?’

‘Yes, sir, is the target acquired?’

Cusmar nodded and began to move away; the Irregulars fell into step. ‘It’s at a farmhouse a few miles inland. We’ll have to move on foot. Quickly, too; we’re against the clock. I have disabled his transport but support is inbound.’

Weaver whispered to the others. ‘Double time, ten-metre spread, silent and watchful.’ He turned back to the spy. ‘You have point, sir.’

The five shadowy shapes headed off into the night.

**

Weaver stopped dead and held a clenched fist aloft. The other Irregulars stopped and crouched down. Ahead of them the enigmatic spy, Cusmar, had stopped moving and was studying the road ahead of the treeline. After a moment, he inched back to the captain. ‘Vehicle patrol.’

Agent 350 leads the way

‘Can we wait for them to pass?’

Cusmar shook his head. ‘No, they’ve stopped. We haven’t got time to wait for them to move again. Can your crew take it out? Silently.’

‘How many?’

‘Four. One armed and guarding the front of the vehicle; the other three are at the back, weapons slung.’

Weaver nodded and twitched a finger at Guillaume. ‘Corporal Argent, I need a silent kill on the front guard.’ He pointed at the man lounging against the parked truck.

‘There are three others to the rear of the vehicle. We’ll take them but I need the rifleman out of the picture first. Give us time to circle into position before striking.’

‘Aye, sir.’ The tall Canadian nodded and vanished into the darkness.

Cusmar eyed the other two Irregulars. ‘The girl?’

‘What about her?’

‘She up to this?’

Weaver gave a low chuckle. ‘Don’t you worry about Violette.’

The Captain beckoned his remaining troops forward and took them silently through the wood and past the idling truck. They spread out behind the relaxing squad who were chatting amiably while enjoying a cup of coffee.

Weaver watched as the armed guard turned and laughed at an overheard comment. As the man looked over his shoulder, a shadow detached itself from the trees and ran fast at him. A point flashed and the man slumped against the side of the truck. The other Irregulars burst from the treeline and fell on the remaining soldiers, knives bloodied as they hacked down the men. It was over in seconds.

No sound.

Cusmar broke from his hiding place and hurried over to the captain. ‘Impressive. And now we have transport.’

Weaver smiled. ‘Mac, Argent, get the bodies out of the road. Violette get the truck fired up.’ The Irregulars hurried to their tasks. ‘Agent Cusmar, your chariot awaits.’

**

Violette stopped the truck at the foot of the track.

Ahead they could see the farmhouse. Foot patrols circled the main building and a wall that ran around the perimeter of the farmyard.

The other Irregulars had already climbed out of the truck and were now fanning out across a wheat field, readying themselves for the assault on the farm. Agent Cusmar sat beside Violette and studied her face. ‘You okay, miss?’

‘Yes, I’m just wondering what is in this farmhouse.’

‘Best you don’t know.’

She turned and gave the spy an icy look. ‘Do you think I am a child?’

Cusmar chuckled. ‘No, miss, I certainly do not.’ He paused and looked out through the windscreen at the distant building. ‘In that farm is General Sharodan: one of The Sockhead’s top strategists. We’re here to kidnap him and take him back for interrogation.’

Violette’s eyes widened slightly.

The Irregulars strike

Cusmar glanced back and saw them catch the light. ‘Big job.’ He checked his watch. ‘It’s time.’

Violette gunned the motor as Cusmar lifted a captured .30-cal heavy machine gun out of the footwell. He poked the barrel through the passenger door and chambered the first round. Violette stamped on the accelerator and the truck leapt forward.

From across the field, a single rifle shot rang out toppling one of the guards running towards the sound of the engine.

Cusmar sat forward in the truck and angled the heavy gun down the road ahead. He leaned into the stock and squeezed the trigger. Noise exploded in the cabin as hot brass cartridges cases rained down in his lap.

The enemy foot patrol scattered to positions behind the wall, leaving one of their number lying in the farmyard. Potshots sounded from across the small stone barricade, peppering the onrushing vehicle.

Cusmar lay down short bursts of heavy fire, keeping most of the soldiers pinned down. To his left, the other Irregulars were moving quickly and quietly through the field, stopping to squeeze off sniping shots as the chance presented them.

Two bullets pinged off the front of the truck, starring the windscreen. Violette reached forward and hammered the cracked glass with the heel of her fist, caving the screen into the cabin.

She wheeled the truck around to the right as Cusmar lay a heavy broadside into the troops cowering behind the wall.

She floored the accelerator once more and drove off across a field, circling around behind the farm, keeping the passenger door facing the buildings so that Cusmar could keep up his fire. Shots rang out from the farm’s windows as Sockhead troopers returned fire.

In the field, Mac, Argent and Weaver split up. Argent kept up sniper fire on the troops pinned by the front wall while the other two hurried over to the house.

In the distance, Weaver and Mac could hear the truck’s engine roaring and the clatter of heavy gunfire as they circled round to the house’s flank.

They flattened themselves under a window, shedding their rifles. Both men drew low-calibre silenced pistols for use inside the building. Weaver looked at Mac and nodded.

The Scotsman bounded up and smashed the window. Weaver was beside him in a flash, his pistol pointed into the room, ready to fire if hostiles were present. The room was empty.

They were in.

They darted out into the corridor, startling a Sockhead trooper. Both pistols flashed and the man dropped.

They hurried to flank the door of the next room. Pistol poised, Weaver glanced in. Three men hunkered in one corner watching the window; two of them stood over a third who was being pressed towards the floor - Sharodan.

Weaver held up two fingers to Mac. The Scotsman nodded and they burst into the room, silencers spitting.

Weaver and Mac make the grab

The two guards fell roughly against the wall, blood staining the paper.

Weaver hurried over to the remaining man and hauled him to his feet. ‘General Sharodan. We’d like a little word with you.’

The Sockhead commander gritted his teeth and threw off the captain’s hand, scrabbling for his holstered pistol. ‘Get off me, scum.’

Mac bounced in closer and pushed the barrel of his gun into the general’s stomach. ‘Play nicely now, sir.’ The enemy officer paused, glaring at Mac before moving his hand away. The Scotsman reached down and disarmed the general.

Behind him, Weaver kicked out the window and, between them, they dragged Sharodan out into the farmyard while Argent kept the men at the wall pinned down with his withering sniper fire.

Violette circled the house once more and spotted the struggling Irregulars. She screeched to a halt and they raced over and bundled the general into the back of the truck. Argent appeared from the wheat as she floored the gas once more.

A few more potshots rang out from the house but the truck was away.

**

The submarine drifted slightly on the tide as its dinghy bumped against its dark steel hull. Deck hands reached down and pulled aboard the returning crew. There was much jubilation and excitement among the Irregulars. Only Sharodan remained quiet as he was guided into the vessel’s hull.

A sub home

Captain Weaver hurried past the congratulations of the submariners and caught up to the captured soldier.

‘General, you have my word that you will be fairly handled.’ Sharodan sniffed and looked away, studying the dimly lit interior of the bridge.

A man stepped into view. ‘Captain Weaver, report.’

‘Bosun Codsquallic. May I present General Sharodan of the 4th Sock Army.’